Click on the photos to see full-sized versions (1200 x 797). Once a photo has been opened, you will be able to view all of the photos in a lightbox viewer, using arrow keys or your mouse to navigate. If you like, you can also run a slideshow of the photos.

A Red-billed Gull sits near the Ferry Building on Auckland Harbor.

A girl on a fountain in Devonport.

Children playing on the beach in Devonport.

The news was dominated by natural causes. Earthquakes continued to rock Christchurch and ash from a Chilean volcano invaded New Zealand airspace.

A cruise ship emerges from the foggy morning and pulls into port, right outside my apartment!

Oh, hullo! I guess I had better put some clothes on.

My favorite lunch in Auckland – the seafood risotto from Auckland Fish Market, Market Seafood Brasserie. My friend Joe opted for the fish and chips, with a side of broiled potatoes.

Sunset on Viaduct Harbor.

The view from my apartment. Full moon rising over Auckland Harbor.

Dinner at Euro.

Joe Terahata checks the board.

Joe Terahata and Nabraj Khatri have an intense talk before dinner.

The Euro kitchen brigade at work.

Massage parlor on Fort Street.

Alley off of Fort Street.

Bar on Karangahape Road (K’ Road).

Girs walking on Commerce Street.

The White Lady. This mobile burger joint appears after dark each night and feeds the vampires until 4 am. Look for a review on this site soon.

Just before leaving my apartment on another urban photo safari. Self portrait, Auckland, New Zealand, June 19, 2011.

On Friday night, a cold front blew-in bringing freezing temps and wind gusts of 57 kph. Meanwhile, back home, there were 17 straight days of 100+ F temps.

The Foodstore on the Viaduct. In 2010, I watched the construction of this restaurant as I walked past each morning on the way to work and then managed to have dinner there on its opening weekend.

The Foodstore was bustling on a Saturday night.

Like Euro, The Foodstore features a live kitchen in the dining room. During the day, the Foodstore is used to produce and film cooking television shows.

Grass-fed Hawke’s Bay eye fillet with potato gratin, quail egg & roast tomatoes, from The Foodstore. Simple and delicious.

Countdown clock for the Rugby World Cup, located across the street from the Britomart Transport Centre building.

The back of the Britomart Transport Centre.

Inside the Britomart underground train station.

The massive light fixtures. These skylights not only diffuse both natural and artificial light, but also visually reflect the volcanic heritage of New Zealand.

Stainless steel and glass barriers reflect the colors of the lighted walls. At least for now, there is almost no advertising present in the train station.

Stairs and escalators leading out into the Britomart Transport Centre, where the post-modern design elements of the underground crash into the Edwardian-style, re-purposed General Post Office building, originally built in 1911. The effect is fantastic.

Back on the street and on my last night, it’s time for a steak. The sign for Angus Steak House is on the street, but you have to go around the block and into an alley to find the entrance.

Angus Steak House features a prix fixe menu for the basic steak and salad bar. The customer selects his own (massive) cut of meat. Other options are available, including eye fillet and a rack of lamb.

The steaks are grilled and then served on cast iron plates.

Unlike the steak from The Foodstore, this one was bigger and better – no quail egg, no fancy sauce, and no push-back when I asked for it to be cooked rare-to-medium. This was just an honest steak that was so good, I had to take a bite first, before I could be bothered to take a picture of it.

The ubiquitous, but always impressive Auckland Sky Tower. Someday, I need to jump off of that thing.

The delightful sushi and sashimi lunch “plate” at Industry Zen. The theatrical and elaborate presentation style of the food is fun, not fussy. The food was delicious and I was smiling throughout my meal, as I would open the colorful ceramic boxes to find the treasures within.

The beautiful turbofan blades of one of the massive General Electric GE90 jet engines on the B777-300ER, on which I flew home. This was easily the nicest airplane I have ever been on. Even in the cattle car section, the seats had folding leg rests, which could be used to make a bed, assuming luck or fortune gave you access to the seat row. The seat-back video screens were the largest I have seen and featured the latest touchscreen interface. Even the ambient lighting looked like it was from a luxury car.

Back at home, our newest cat, Hudson, plays with his new Kiwi finger puppet.

Click on the photos to see full-sized versions (1200 x 797). Once a photo has been opened, you will be able to view all of the photos in a lightbox viewer, using arrow keys or your mouse to navigate. If you like, you can also run a slideshow of the photos.

There are lots of interesting cars in NZ, but what surprised me was how much American Iron I saw. I saw more old Mustangs on the street in NZ, than I see on the street in the US. Lots of hotrods, like this old Pontiac.

This dilapidated downtown building, located in the midst of modern hotels and office building, was covered top-to-bottom in graffiti. It’s such an anomaly for the area and the graffiti coverage is so thorough, that it almost looks like a deliberate art project. Almost. I always wanted to take my camera and go through, but I never got around to it. Maybe next time.

Update: The building is the Yates Building. It is 99 years old and has been vacant for more than a decade. It has been declared a heritage site and the mayor ordered a clean-up that began just after the Christmas break, which is exactly when I left. It looks like I missed my chance.

Another interesting tree at the park.

At the Auckland Museum cultural demonstration, a Maori shows what he might look like, just before he kills some white people.

A dinosaur skeleton at the Auckland Museum.

The view from our walk through Stony Batter Historical Reserve, on Waiheke Island.

How could I have a proper photo blog of New Zealand without sheep?

Moonwatcher.

My friend Nabraj Khatri at Mudbrick Vineyard and Restaurant on Waiheke Island.

The view from the deck of the ferry, sailing back to the mainland from Waiheke Island.

New Zealand green-lipped mussels at Auckland Fish Market.

Shrimp at Auckland Fish Market.

The skipper of our America’s Cup racing boat, climbs 34 meters to the top of the mast to look for the wind. Unfortunately, he did not find any that day.

The fastest sailboat in New Zealand, the Vodafone trimaran. In the background is the Vodafone building, where I worked.

Breakfast at Soljans Estate Cafe. Mushroom á la greque with caramelized onions, herb potato hashcake, poached eggs, bacon, smoked paprika oil, red wine infusion and hollandaise sauce.

This is a gannet. This is how you find dolphins and whales. The dolphins gather huge schools of fish and trap them near the surface. Then they eat the fish. The gannets fly from shore out to where the dolphins have gathered the schools of fish and then they eat the fish. Sometimes whales come along and they eat the fish, too. The dolphins are doing all the work, but everybody eats…except the fish. It sucks to be a fish. Anyway, follow the gannets from the shore and they will lead you to dolphins, whales, and scenes like these.

There were moments when so many birds would follow each other that it looked like a waterfall of birds, falling into the sea.

This is what a gannet looks like, just before it hits the water at 100 kph. It pulls it’s wings back and against its body. Air sacs in it’s head and neck inflate to keep the neck from breaking. Special lenses cover the eyes, which not only protect the eyes, but also offset the refraction caused by the water, allowing the bird to hit its target properly. The eyes of the bird are also set more forward than in most birds, to allow good binocular vision. The vision of the gannet has to be outstanding, because if the bird hits anything at speed (another bird, a dolphin, errant flotsam), it will be crippled or killed immediately.

Oh the fishmanity!

A starry night? The Milky Way? No. After the massacre, the sea is littered with fish scales, glinting in the sun.

The skipper wasn’t about to be left out. He quickly caught a fish, cleaned it…

…and we were eating it in less than 30 minutes. The freshest fish I have ever eaten.

It’s really difficult to catch a dolphin coming all the way out of the water. They usually don’t do that. It took two dolphin-watching trips, but I finally got lucky.

Still, this is my favorite. A mother and her day-old calf.

The black sand of Muriwai Beach.

Beautiful rock formations on the shoreline of Muriwai Beach.

Gannet Island.

Another view of Gannet Island. Okay, I doubt this is called Gannet Island, but that’s what I call it. It seems like they have a lock on the population, so they should just go ahead and make it their own sovereign nation.

A gannet. Possibly the mayor of Gannet Island.

Mrs. Pribble at her favorite place on earth – the beach.

J I M M Y

I probably won’t be doing a narrative travel blog for my 2010 trips to New Zealand. I went to Auckland to work for two weeks and ended-up living there for three months. Neither of those things was conducive to having a travel blog mind-set. So instead, I will select and publish a few photos (from the 5,000+ I took) that I think will give a well-rounded look at the kind of experiences I had there. I hope the photos give you a nice little peek at the very, very small part of New Zealand that I saw and with which I fell in love.

Click on the photos to see full-sized versions (1200 x 797). Once a photo has been opened, you will be able to view all of the photos in a lightbox viewer, using arrow keys or your mouse to navigate. If you like, you can also run a slideshow of the photos.

A young couple waits for the incoming ferry.

Daredevils in orange jump suits walk around the top of the Auckland’s Sky Tower, 192 meters above the ground.

The busy scene at Valentino’s Gelato, located in the Auckland Ferry Building. I discovered this place the first day I was in Auckland and I swore that I would have a cone every day. Thank God that I didn’t.

Some of the creamy selections from Valentino’s Gelato.

Auckland has more sailboats per capita than anywhere else in the world. Or so they say.

A Ferrari prowls Auckland’s CBD.

Seafood chowder at a beachside cafe on Waiheke Island.

A Waiheke vineyard accommodates a fluted boulder, remnant of a volcanic eruption which occurred seven million years ago.

The rocks? Olivine basaltic andesite, if you must know.

The Mudbrick Vineyard and Restaurant.

The ferry waiting to take us from Waiheke back to Auckland.

A Maori carving at the Auckland Museum.

Saturday afternoon cricket match in the park.

Bangers & Mash with a twist at Hallertau Brewbar and Restaurant. That’s kangaroo sausage, creamy mashed potato, and grilled vine tomato with a caramelized onion jus.

I washed the kangaroo down with the excellent beer sampler.

My roommate, Boon Tek, took this picture of me on the balcony of our apartment at Shed 24, next to the Hilton. Every night, we would have some wine, watch the always awesome sunsets, and then wander down the wharf for some food.

A sunset like this one, for instance.

A competitor runs towards the finish line after swimming across Auckland Harbour.

Hundreds of non-traditional Santas prepare for a 3K fun run through Viaduct Harbor to raise money for the KidsCan charity.

Victoria Park in downtown Auckland.

While out looking for dolphins and whales, we saw a lone boat that seemed to traverse a surreal place where the sea and the sky blended seamlessly together. I did not manipulate this photo in any way.

Of course, we also saw dolphins and whales. This fella turned over so he could see me hanging over the railing of the boat. I see you!

Hanua Falls.

A fern canopy near Hanua Falls.

Yeah!

Chef’s Special at Casita Miro on Waiheke.

View East Vineyard on Waiheke Island.

This is Mrs. Pribble at the View East Vineyard. She was able to join me in NZ for about ten days. She is also available in sober.

Found this beauty at Saratoga Estate on Waiheke Island.

And for dessert – Trio of Honey Ice Cream from the BeesOnline Honey Centre. Delicious!

J I M M Y

Click on the photos to see full-sized versions (940 x 624). Once a photo has been opened, you will be able to view all of the photos in a lightbox viewer, using arrow keys or your mouse to navigate. If you like, you can also run a slideshow of the photos.

A1 Arena NZ has it’s own Facebook page here. You can go there to check out other photos and videos from the event.

J I M M Y

This has also been posted on the Texas Audi Group forum here.

Here is the trailer I made, using footage I shot on the trip with the new D90. We will be running this for the next few weeks, during the weekend services.

jimmy

The trip left me physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. And though I have recovered somewhat, I am still processing everything that I experienced. Honestly, I am a little bit tired of processing and I would like to get something down on paper. I have a story to tell. In fact, I have a book. So, until I can publish Mornings with Mwanje, I will serialize our trip using some of the 4000 photos I shot. Obviously, these photos will barely scratch the surface of what I saw, but I have tried to include a variety of things to provide an overview of the experience. Yes, there will be a Part 2.

Click on the photos to see full-sized versions (1200 x 797). Once a photo has been opened, you will be able to view all of the photos in a lightbox viewer, using arrow keys or your mouse to navigate. If you like, you can also run a slideshow of the photos.

We flew from Austin to Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. From Amsterdam, we flew directly to Entebbe, Uganda. Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to take any photographs at the infamous Entebbe airport and I felt like it was a little early in the trip to push my luck. Note: I began pushing my luck only one day later.

When we passed this building on Monday night, I thought to myself that it must be condemned. Then the bus slowed, did a U-turn, and pulled into the gated entrance. It was our hotel! The Entebbe Flight Hotel Motel.

Yeah, it could use some paint. Our room turned-out to be just fine. I have stayed in worse hotel rooms. What was remarkable was that guests were allowed to stay in a hotel that was under this level of construction and repair.

First night in Africa! I’m trying to smile through my exhaustion. It would only get worse.

The Entebbe Flight Motel’s unfortunate logo printed on my sheets, which had shrunk in a way that made the cartographic representation of the globe look like a hand grenade. That is not a desirable association. Perhaps the motel’s renovation will include a full image makeover that includes a new logo.

On the road to Jinja, a woman stops her work to smile and wave.

A man walks on the road to Jinja.

Bridge over the River Nile. This bridge was less than a mile from the guest house and I walked across it almost every day. It’s illegal to take photographs of the bridge and later in the trip, I would be detained by soldiers stationed at the bridge for doing just that. At the time, I wasn’t carrying my passport, nor any bribe money. That was an interesting morning.

As night falls, fishermen finish their day’s work on the Nile.

Mrs. Pribble and I had a disagreement about what sort of power converter would be required for Africa. Unfortunately, my frame of reference was my experience living in Germany…in the 80′s. So, I bought the converter on the left that looks like it was left over from the Cold-War-era Russian space program and weighs about as much as a car battery. Kimberly bought the little geegaw on the right. It worked just as well, without any of the drawbacks. Mrs. Pribble for the win in straight sets.

Children pour out of their school to greet us on our first day in the field. I hadn’t yet gripped a photojournalist mindset and I spent the whole day shooting photos of the children, but I did a poor job of shooting their environment. This is a blurry photo, which I wouldn’t have normally included, but it is the only clear photo I took of their school and it’s important to see what I’m talking about when I say schoolhouse. At night, the classrooms serve as animal pens.

Children from the first school we visited.

The children loved having their picture taken.

The have-nots among the have-nots. The kids who didn’t attend the school, gathered and quietly watched from the perimeter. Look at the differences in the expressions between the older kids and the youngest. The youngest seems to be hopeful, looking for leadership from the older boy. But he already looks wary, and the girl behind, distrustful. They would eventually be shooed-away by the teachers.

We brought the children new jump ropes, which were a huge hit.

A beautiful young Ugandan girl.

On this particular day, a few of us drove further along this road into the country, to an even more remote village with an even smaller school.

The signage for the Agape Christian School in Nondwe.

A girl and her sister find space in the tiny schoolhouse.

Dacia Newton leads the children in worship.

Ugandan SUV. This isn’t the biggest load that I saw strapped to a bicycle or motorcycle.

Mrs. Pribble makes a friend in Buyengo.

A child eats at the St. Racheal School in Buyengo.

Kelsey Kendrick holds another baby in her lap.

Tonya Parrott sits quietly with a couple of children.

In the chapel was this decoration made from flowers and strips of paper.

Many of the homes in the villages were decorated with drawings, text, and other artwork. This home, in the middle of a remote area in Africa, shows its allegiance to Arsenal, a UK football club!

A Euphorbia (cactus tree) at Bukaleba.

A woman dressed in traditional clothing, walks to Bukaleba from her village.

Kevin Kendrick snapped this photo of me near the pine trees of Bukaleba.

A sign at Bujagali Falls.

Bujagali Falls. I don’t see what’s so dangerous.

I got lucky and snapped this beautiful little kingfisher on the shore of the Nile.

Bats flying home to roost in their coconut trees.

A fisherman mends his nets.

Impossibly cute little girl.

Two girls run across the grounds of the school at Kikondo.

In some ways, Ugandan schools are actually more advanced than their US counterparts.

In other ways, it remains a vastly different world.

Another greeter runs after our bus.

A girl waves from a watering hole with the classic Ugandan two-handed greeting.

J I M M Y

Honestly, I can see the critics’ point. It’s easy to justify these photographs as a vehicle for spreading a worthwhile message that will inspire people to act in response. The message is probably well-meaning and truthful. Help this hungry child. But as a photographer, I will be the first to tell you that a photograph isn’t truthful at all, even if it is taken honestly, without (obvious) manipulation or modification. Part of it is truthful, but the context will (and should) always be in question.

This is a photo I took at a school near Jinja. I think this is a fair representation of the kind of picture you might see in a save the children campaign, designed to have people running for their checkbooks. This photo was not manipulated in any way, either at the time I took the shot, or in post production. I saw the child sitting outside a classroom and I walked over and took several pictures. In that sense (and in the sense that this child does, in fact, need help), the photo is honest.

What isn’t honest, or at least what is obscured, is the context. What we all forget is that a photographer is usually part of the context. In this case, I walked over to the child and he was looking right at me. What might be perceived as sadness or worry in his expression, might simply be curiosity at seeing a mzungu. The truth is – the child had that expression on his face, because…

…I hadn’t made him smile yet.

As a student of journalism and a photographer (and now, as someone who takes photographs of poor African children), I am very interested in this debate. If you have any thoughts about the subject, let me know in the Comments section. However, I would like to make a more important point – if these photographs or blog entries about Africa (or anything else) inspire you, then I would urge you to seek the truth for yourself and go see things with your own eyes. I can tell you that even with a lifetime of preparation, nothing was quite like I expected. No photograph, no book, no story could have prepared me for the things that took my breath away. They only inspired me. I didn’t see the truth, until I went to see for myself.

jimmy

Well, in one sense, I am very ready. I have wanted to go to Africa since high school, when a geography teacher sparked my imagination with tales of her experiences in Kenya, specifically with the Maasai people. She had lived with the Maasai for some time and had become an honorary member of their tribe. She told us about drinking the mixture of cow’s blood and milk, which is a waning tradition. She told us about the tribe’s custom of stretching their earlobes. She said they liked to put things in them, especially 35 mm film canisters (something else which is disappearing), because they could carry things in them. She also taught us some basic Swahili (Kiswahili). Because of her expertise, she spent a lot of time making her experiences come alive for us and I really wanted to go and meet those people she talked about.

Around the same time, Out of Africa was released. I saw the film with my girlfriend and at one point, I found myself bawling my eyes out. No, it wasn’t because of what happened to Robert Redford’s dashing Denys Finch Hatton. I don’t know what it was about. John Barry’s beautiful score certainly didn’t help matters, but clearly, something was stirring in me. I suspect my girlfriend thought I was crazy. To be sure there was plenty going on in my life to cause a spontaneous, minor emotional breakdown, but I really think it goes beyond those events. For all the years that I have thought about that incident, I have known in my heart that it had something to do with Africa.

I began to keep a clip file on Africa and I even bought a book about traveling to Africa, but I never went.

Peter Beard wears a different kind of croc.

Then I discovered Peter Beard, an American artist, photographer, and ecologist who was inspired to move to Kenya after reading Karen Blixen’s Out of Africa three decades before I saw Sydney Pollack’s film. His collage-style diaries inspired my own diaries that I began in the 90′s (I will discuss those les livres noirs in another blog entry some other day). I found Beard’s life to be fascinating and desirable. To me, he was a real life “most interesting man in the world.” If I couldn’t be James Bond, then I wanted to be Peter Beard.

I loved the way he seemed to effortlessly navigate between living in a tent, on his ranch in Kenya, photographing the grim plight of the African elephant and flying to New York to party at Studio 54 with his pals Andy Warhol, Truman Capote, Bianca Jagger, and Jackie O. He was friends with Francis Bacon. He married Cheryl Tiegs. Admittedly, some of my admiration was misguided, but I don’t want to derail my point with those observations at this time. There is no denying our common passion for Africa and studying Beard’s work only deepened my longing for the continent.

And still, though I sometimes had the means, I never went.

I use the word continent deliberately. Most of my early African inspiration came specifically from Kenya, but later I would have similar deeply moving feelings about other parts of Africa, especially North Africa, which is vastly different than East Africa. I have heard about North Africa my whole life, because my mother lived in Morocco when she was a teenager. My point is that there is something about that continent. Some draw. Something beyond description. Something beyond me.

And still, even knowing that I needed to go there, I never went.

It wasn’t the right time. Let me just say it as plainly as I can – I believe that God didn’t want me to go on a photo safari in Africa. Don’t hear me say there is anything wrong with photo safaris or tourism. Maybe I will do that someday. But as God has restored things in my life that I had previously ruined, delayed, derailed, or thought beyond reach, I have come to recognize his handiwork, his holy blessed meddling, and it is clear to me that he reserved my experience of Africa, until I was ready to go and serve in his name. I think he used my experience with the homeless camp a couple of years ago as a kind of missionary bunny slope, a safe way to understand a particular kind of service to people, which had nothing to do with art and was outside my comfort zone.

I get the feeling that on this trip, God is going take me being outside my comfort zone to a whole nutha level. In fact, that process caught me off guard by starting almost the moment we signed-up. At the first team meeting, our leader, Erika Dunham, started talking about support letters. Support letters? I had assumed we would just pay our own way. She described the process and then asked if anyone had a problem with it. My hand shot up. I told her that I felt very uncomfortable asking people for money (especially in the current economy), not because we didn’t have the money, but rather because we did have the money. She listened patiently and then said it was my pride. Ulp.

Sending the support letters was difficult for me, but Erika explained some of the Biblical concepts behind it and after some reflection, I have a much better understanding of why it is done that way. If you did not receive a letter from us, please take that as a statement of our weakness and nothing more. We sent very few letters this time and most of them were to family. One of the difficult concepts for me was understanding that we were being selfish by denying people the chance to contribute and participate in the mission trip. So (deep breath), if you are reading this and would like to contribute financially to this trip, you can send a check to:

2009 ACF Africa Mission Trip
c/o Austin Christian Fellowship
6401 River Place Blvd
Austin, TX 78730

Make the check payable to Austin Christian Fellowship and put Jimmy and Kimberly Pribble on the memo line. You can also support us with prayer! Please know that prayer might even be more important for the success of the trip. We don’t know yet what our needs will be, so simply pray that God’s will be done.

If you did receive and respond to our letter, thank you! Your outpouring of love and support has been humbling. In practical terms, we just got word that our trip has been fully funded through your donations! I know the Lord will bless your sacrificial giving and I promise to do my best to document the trip so you can see God’s hand in the lives of those we meet in Africa and in our own lives.

No Really, I’m Not Ready

I had a fantasy that I would clear my calendar the two weeks before the trip in order to give myself time to study, pray, shop for supplies, pack, and learn to use my new camera. No chance. I’m booked. In fact, this next week I am busy every evening, except Wednesday, and that is because I canceled my standing Wednesday Work Night.

In fact, I have had so many projects lately, that I have found it very difficult to get deeply excited about this trip and I so desperately want to be excited. I am just about to go to our packing party, so maybe that will help.

Each year, dozens of people are killed on Lake Victoria by crocs. Do they really want us sending them more?

Okay, I just got back from the packing party and my attitude has improved. We have a great team and everyone not only pitched-in to pack 26 duffel bags full of donations (that’s 1300 lbs. of stuff), but they did it with a great attitude and a real sense of purpose. It’s going to be great serving with them over the next few weeks.

I was also happy to see so many Crocs being shipped to Africa. Hey, the more we send to Africa, the less we have here! Okay, I admit it – I hate those shoes. I’m sure they are practical, but let’s face it, so are nurses shoes and I don’t want to see those on everyone’s feet, either. Still, thank you Crocs for your donation! Those folks in Africa are going to love your shoes and I hope your company will be blessed, because of your genorosity.

This post has really gone off its outline. Let’s see if I can wrap this up. I was talking about not being ready…

A couple of weeks ago, I did manage to clear my schedule long enough to do some research into Uganda. Until recently, my brain dump of all things Uganda would have looked like this: Uganda, Idi Amin, Raid on Entebee and…that’s it. So, I studied-up on Uganda’s geography first and then checked the CIA World Factbook for a solid overview. I have a reasonable library at home, so I looked at my books and came-up with only two hits: a very short entry in 1000 Places to See Before You Die (good) and a very long entry in The World’s Most Dangerous Places. Oh dear.

So, I went to Barnes & Noble to see what I could find. I bought The Last King of Scotland by Giles Foden and The Teeth May Smile but the Heart Does Not Forget: Murder and Memory in Uganda by Andrew Rice. Grim stuff. I think Kevin Kendrick picked-up a book that is even worse. It’s probably just as well I don’t have more time to research. I think I would rather just get over there and I see what I see with my own eyes, unencumbered with preconceived expectations. That is my primary duty after all – I am the official photographer and blogger for this mission trip.

My secondary duty? Preacher. I’ll give you a moment to pick yourself up off the floor. I swear, I’m as shocked as you are. Two Sundays from now, I am going to go to an African church , stand-up behind a pulpit, and deliver a full-length sermon, maybe through a translator, maybe not. I was just told this last week. I don’t have a sermon prepared, I don’t know what to say to a congregation that I have never met and who’s lives I do not yet understand, and I don’t see that I have any time in the next two weeks to write what will be my very first sermon.

I’m really, really not ready. But God is.

jimmy

On Monday, I drove to Dallas and met Charles at the airport, where I left my car for the return trip. Charles had brought a surprise gift for me – a very special pair of loudspeakers. Charles had remembered my fascination with these speakers when we were young. I loved their unique design, but at $500 a pair in 1986, they were beyond my reach. Twenty years later, Charles was reading letters that I sent to him while I was in the Air Force and came across one in which I mentioned these. So, he found a pair on eBay, refurbished them for me and that is how I came to be the proud new owner of a pair of Design Acoustic PS-10s.

What makes the speakers unique is that they have a small form factor (about a 1′ cube), but the main cabinet is held over a built-in stand by about an inch, which allows for a downward-firing 10″ woofer. I only just now noticed that DA called this the “Bass Base.” LOL. I found an obscure little forum that concerns itself with old Design Acoustic speakers here and they had posted some original literature, which I reposted on my flickr page for posterity.

Click the brochure for more information about the PS-10 loudspeakers.

This is boring Jimmy. Get back to the road trip.

Well, that’s the thing, you see. This is very representative of our road trip. After meeting his family of girls and spending the night at his house (specifically in his media room on couch #1), Charles and I woke-up at 5:30 AM on Tuesday and spent the next 15 hours talking about stuff like stereos, cars (lots about cars), our history, our other road trips, and the awesome new 80 MPH speed limit in West Texas, as well as other, more lightweight subjects like religion and politics. We checked into the hotel, got some sleep (couch #2), woke-up and then talked some more. We didn’t do much of anything.

On Wednesday, we did a recce of the bicycle course, Charles went for a brief ride and run, and then we had an awesome lunch at Med Fresh Grill, a Turkish restaurant that we found near the ASU campus (thanks to Shawn Olsen for the tip).

We caught a showing of Quantum of Solace (my second) and then we went back to the campus area, where I barely got the last order of fish and chips before the kitchen closed at a traditional Irish Pub, Rúla Búla. No, it is really an Irish pub, built in Ireland and then shipped over here. Like a kit, I guess. Anyway, it seemed authentic enough to me, until the loud hip hop started playing on the patio, where we were seated. I asked the impossibly young, impossibly perky waitress about it (is that a smiley face she drew on my ticket?) and she said that was normal after 9 PM. Ugh. The pint of Guinness Extra Stout on draft made it all better, though.

I flew back to Dallas the next day. I stayed with David Sylvester and his family for a couple of days (couch #3) before driving home. I had a good visit with Dave and also got to spend some quality time with my goddaughter, Melynda. Melynda has an awesome imagination, so without missing a beat, she and I worked-out a scenario during her play time in which I sat in her restaurant and she served me a meal. I didn’t like the food, so I walked the check. She called the police and I was thrown in jail, after which I was tried and sentenced to community service, which of course involved me working in her restaurant as a kitchen porter washing dishes and such. I wasn’t able to complete the rags-to-riches story by working my way up to head chef before Melynda had to go to bed. So I read a mystery to her, before tucking her into bed. I really need to see her more often; she makes me a better person.

jimmy

Melynda and Meryn.

A couple of bonus photos and details about the trip are on my Facebook profile here. I think Facebook is wrecking my already bad blogging habits, but we’ll talk more about that later…on Facebook. D’oh!

Oh, Charles met his personal goal and finished the Ironman. Cheers, mate!

I have never thought this was a particularly good write-up, but it is simply a direct transcription of my diary, except for minor editing (grammar, clarity), or where there have been gross omissions, such as our foray into Tijuana and our encounter with a tornado. Yes, somehow I forgot the tornado. Maybe Charles can help me remember more details about the trip.

Road Trip: Monterrey, California, August 7-15, 1991

San Antonio, TX – Ft. Stockton, TX

My friend Charles Braden, who was living in Houston at the time, met me at the entrance of the San Antonio International Airport sometime around 11pm on Wednesday, August 7, 1991. He was riding his Honda VFR700 Interceptor. I had just ridden down from Austin on my smaller ’84 Honda VF500F Interceptor. We met in San Antonio to catch I-10 West, which would take us all the way to California and our friends Rob and Michelle, who were living in Monterrey. Despite already being tired from an ordinary day, the excitement of finally setting out on our long-planned trip kept us riding until 5am, when we finally had to stop just outside of Ft. Stockton for some sleep.

Our first campsite located just outside of Ft. Stockton. The night we stopped was beautiful. It was so dark that the Milky Way could easily be seen and the light from our flashlights made visible beams into the distance. We were so tired that the rocky ground didn’t bother us at all. We probably could have done without a tent and even sleeping bags. However, the Sheriff that told us we were on private property the next morning DID bother us, so we left.

West Texas – The Tornado

August in Texas is no picnic. It was easily 100 F degrees in the shade every day that we rode. Unfortunately, we weren’t in the shade. We were also sitting behind running engines all day, with our feet resting just above burning hot exhausts. It was hot, get it?

Anyway, somewhere deep in West Texas, we found some relief in the occasional flash rainstorm. These storms would literally appear out of nowhere, unload on us, and then they were gone. One storm that we were coming upon looked particularly ominous. The sky above us was bright sunny and clear, but in the very near distance, perhaps just a couple of miles ahead (less than two minutes), we could see a sky as black as night. We could also see the WALL of water pouring from the sky. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen. In a split second, I went from hot and dry, to riding through the water wall and into cold gusting winds blasting us with sand. Visibility went to very bad, but we pressed on. Just ahead, we could see an overpass. We pulled in underneath and found a couple of other cyclists. We thought it would blow over quickly, so we just sat on the bikes.

In an instant the wind and rain picked up to an incredible level. Then the hail started. It was deafening. I had just a moment to make a last nervous joke to Charles and I yelled to him at the top of my lungs, “We’re all going to die!” A split second after that it turned worse and I realized it was no joking matter. We could hear the freight train sound and we were bent over our bikes (like so many of our top speed tests) clutching onto the bikes for dear life. For a second, there was a reprieve and we ran up to the uppermost corner of the underpass. We could see big parts of trees and other debris flying through the underpass. A minute later it was gone. We never actually saw the funnel, but it was there. We spent some time collecting ourselves and after some delay, got back on the road.

Tucson, AZ and the Jacket Incident

We stayed in Tucson that night in the worst fleabag motel we could find – The Dreamland Motel (the Vista Del Sol was full), for $18. The next morning, we had breakfast at the best diner I have ever been to. Talk about a slice of America, I thought “Mel” (Vic Tayback, R.I.P.) was going to walk out of the kitchen at any time. I made the above notes while eating the “Hungry Jack” breakfast.

So there we were, somewhere in Arizona, minding our own business and going 120 mph. I was drafting Charles, trying to raise my top speed record, which stood at 124 mph (set the previous day). All of a sudden, my beautiful new Harley-Davidson jacket, which was strapped onto my seat, was sucked behind my bike where it was then picked up by the rear wheel and pulled into the bike. It looked like this:

This put me into a skid. A fast one. I somehow managed to keep from dropping the bike, pulled over, and leapt from the bike thinking it might be on fire (burning rubber and leather creates a lot of smoke). Imagine my surprise at seeing the culprit. The end results weren’t so bad: a nice adrenaline rush, a seriously worn tire, and an ordinary jacket transformed into a battered, melted and torn Mad Max™ jacket! Cool!

Jimmy’s Top Tip: Don’t try this at home.

The skid mark begins where Charles is standing – 495 feet!

San Diego, CA – Tijuana, Mexico

In trying to maintain the $18 nightly room rate we had found on the Interstate, we ended up in the seediest part of San Diego. It was so bad, that when we were checking into the hotel, the clerk slid a form to me from under his caged window. “What’s this?” I asked. “It says that you aren’t a hooker and nobody you bring to your room is a hooker,” he said. Classy.

Since we were already wading in the cesspool, we figured why not just dive all the way in and we headed for Tijuana. We parked and walked across the border. Back in Laredo, I was used to being able to just walk across the border and plop myself down at the Cadillac Bar without too much trouble, but in Tijuana you actually have to take a cab into town. We got downtown and started looking around. This place made Laredo look like Tuscany. It was filthy nasty. It didn’t help that it was practically abandoned. We went into a two-story discothèque and we were literally the only customers. We were too tired to look very hard for the right place to be, so we just parked it and ordered a drink. Charles ordered some kind of popper and the funny thing was the bartender came out to our table and played it up as if the place was packed. He yanked Charles’ head back poured some shots in his mouth, grabbed his head and shook it up while another bartender stood by and cheered him on. I’m sitting there looking around an empty room and thinking what the hell is this guy doing?

Los Angeles, CA

Los Angeles. La-La Land. Whatever. We didn’t even bother seeing the city. It would take at least a week to begin to see all there is, so we decided to see one small part. While stuck in traffic, we asked this guy where they had filmed the race scenes in the movie “Against All Odds.” Without missing a beat, he gave us precise directions and even helped us find the right road to turn on (it wasn’t far off), so we spent the next four hours racing through the canyons on Mulholland Drive. It was great fun!

Monterrey, CA – Rob and Michelle

We finally arrived in Monterrey and rode up to Rob and Michelle’s apartment. It was finally time for the big surprise. I knocked on the door and Rob answered. He was completely and totally…unsurprised. It seems that my overly-concerned grandmother called ahead, asked for me, and then rang off when they said I wasn’t there. They put two and two together and Rob went out for some beer so we would have something to drink when we got in.

Anyway, we spent some time catching up and then we went out for a nice dinner in Carmel. We stopped by Clint Eastwood’s restaurant on the off chance he would be there, but no such luck. So we went back to Rob and Michelle’s place and stayed up late drinking. The next morning, we realized that we hadn’t taken any photos from the previous night, so Michelle and I “fake partied” for the camera.

Later that morning we headed back south to LA, where we would turn west and finally head home.

Los Angeles, CA – Charles’ Bad Day

As usual, we were traveling at a high rate of speed when Charles passed a CHP truck. The trooper pulled him over and told him that if he had noticed him and slowed down, he wouldn’t have done anything. But Charles somehow didn’t notice that the truck was black and white, had lights in the window, and oh yeah, had “STATE TROOPER” written across the back. Duh. Anyway, the trooper was very nice and we were soon on our way. Considering all we had done up until now, the fact that this was the first ticket of the trip was fairly miraculous.

We rode well for most of the day. Around dusk, we skirted LA and as we moved away from town, we encountered a lot of traffic. So, we started doing something that is common out here. It’s called “white lining.” Motorcycles ride between cars in heavy traffic or in traffic jams. Most of the cars are respectful of the practice.

Anyway, Charles and I were moving through traffic at our usual speeds of about 100 mph when we almost passed another CHP patrol car on the side of the road. Charles, who was a little in front of me, hit his brakes, locked his front wheel and went down hard. For a split second, I thought I might hit him, but I managed to avoid him and pull over quickly. As I got off the bike and ran back to Charles, I remember being completely calm. Then I saw Charles walking around, though he was favoring his hand was obviously in excruciating pain. But, I knew he must be alright.

A very nice young couple pulled over and helped. The guy helped me pick up the bike and roll it off the road, while his pregnant wife helped Charles take his helmet off and wrap his hands. These people were very kind. They even told the cops that we weren’t speeding. The bike’s magnesium crankcase cover broke and spilled all of the oil. Other than that, it appears that the turn signal and fairing are the only other things damaged. The bike was towed to the wrecker company and tomorrow morning, they will take it to the local Honda dealer.

Tonight, Chas and I are staying at a truck stop motel. We will learn tomorrow what’s going to happen as far as getting Charles home. It all depends on whether they can fix his bike quickly or not. I can’t believe Charles topped my jacket incident on this trip.

Self-portrait on the night of Charles’ accident:

God, I look young and tired. The next day I got on my bike and rode 26 hours straight to get back home. Seriously, I’m not sure that I was sane back then.

jimmy